


not the last; yours.

by sybilius



Series: talking won't save you (B-sides) [6]
Category: Il buono il brutto il cattivo | The Good The Bad and The Ugly (1966)
Genre: Alcoholism mention, Backstory, Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Murder, Tweechik, When did You lose your Murder Virginity Angel Eyes asks curiously?, sharing stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28197297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sybilius/pseuds/sybilius
Summary: Blondie and Angel Eyes circle back to first times.
Relationships: Angel Eyes/"Blondie" | The Man with No Name
Series: talking won't save you (B-sides) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065635
Kudos: 3





	not the last; yours.

It’s summer, and there they are talking about death again. The green of the moss and grass is lush and verdant, purple flowers cropping up around the empty space. Everything as bright-eyed and screaming its survival as it gets in Tweechik, and there they are, two killers by fireside at sunset, picking at their blood soaked past like a scab. 

“You know my first, now tell me yours,” Angel Eyes meets his gaze across the fire, sparks spitting up between them. The cool breeze whistles in the summer wind, and Blondie shivers, thinking of winter. This isn’t the first time he’s asked. _ But it’s been a while since the last time.  _

Rather than refusing, glaring at him over cigarillos that he has to save now, he just shakes his head, “God above. That’s ancient history.”

“You’ve forgotten?”

“...try not to think about it,” he means that. Angel’s gaze dances with a malice he doesn’t entertain as much these days. Except for perhaps at the weather, or the mountains themselves. He lights a match, setting it to his pipe before he speaks next. 

“Let me start for you: I’m guessing it was self defense.”

Blondie exhales, “Kind of. It was a man threatening my mother.”

“Hm,” Angel responds, tilting his head across the fire.  _ Did he think I didn’t have a mother? _

“What?”

“You never spoke of family at all before,” he gets up, picking up a log from the pile and throwing it on the fire. When he sits down, it’s closer to Blondie, his arm a solid line pressed along Blondie's side.  _ Meant to be encouraging _ . 

“Don’t remember them much,” Blondie admits. It’s hazy. He can barely remember her face-- more of a raw impression of fear. Like Angel’s amateur carvings, “I didn’t forget that, though.”

What comes to mind sharply is the smell. Of sweet hay, rot just starting to creep into it. He learned to ride young, he remembers that much. Had a gun handed to him at an age he doesn’t remember by a man he figured to trust. Could have been his father.  _ Wish I still had that beat-up old Colt _ . The thought feels senseless _. It was a shit gun.  _

“How old were you?” Angel asks, all intensity. Blondie’s breath catches in his throat when he turns to him. He forces himself to breathe in, the taste of Angel’ tobacco mixing with the smoke. 

“Maybe seven?”

Angel gives a low whistle, “You sonofabitch.”

Blondie breathes out, “Yeah. Yeah.”

Angel gives him a hard shove to the shoulder, but it’s playful.

“Not that, you idiot. I mean, you were younger than I was,” he sucks on his pipe with a sour look, “Beat me to it.”   
  
“It’s nothing I’m proud of.”

Angel shakes his head, but waits, at least, a few moments till he asks the next question, “So what came of it?” 

“I ran out. Stole a horse of ours. Didn’t look back. Was on my own since then.”

Simple. Nothing to tell.  _ Why I waited so long is beyond me.  _

“And your mother?” 

Blondie wishes he had a cigarillo then, staring at the glowing coals in the fire.  _ Wasn’t expecting him to ask that _ . People might call Angel  _ blunt _ , and maybe that was right, once upon a time. But since spending time with Castellan, his questions are sharpened, like the knives he carries, or even a scalpel.

“...if you have no answer, that’s --”

“By the time I thought to wonder that, I was already at the next town,” the answer comes to Blondie all at once then.  _ Right after it didn’t have to _ . He locks eyes with his would-be partner, who almost looks caught off-guard. 

“I never looked back, either.”

“I know. I know. I’d be a different man if I had,” Blondie mumbles.  _ A better man _ , he can’t help but think. In a second Angel’s hand is at his throat, tilting his head back with those searching eyes, fingers tightening their grip like a snake. He kisses with poisonous teeth, and when he breaks away there’s urgency in his breath and face.

“You--” he says, and then moves to kiss Blondie again. It’s the unspoken  _ thank god you didn’t  _ that after all those years, he can understand at last. 


End file.
